


What's My Name?

by backonefish



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friends references, M/M, OT5, Smut, but have at it, hiatus setting, honestly this is a whole new level of ridiculous, laughing during sex, pretty much what this entire fic is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:12:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backonefish/pseuds/backonefish
Summary: "Dear Harold Styles, The Royal Courts of Justice, hereby affirm the change of name from Harry Edward Styles to Harold Styles"The one where Louis calls Harry 'Harold' one too many times. The one where Harry complains one too many times. The one when Louis finally does something about it.





	What's My Name?

**Author's Note:**

> You know how that one line in every fic, where Louis calls Harry "Harold," and Harry answers with "My name's not Harold"? 
> 
> Well after reading that line so many times, I thought, what if his name was actually Harold? I was inspired. And then got carried away with it. As one does.  
> This is also a big 'screw you' to the other fic I'm writing, because it refuses to get written, so instead of working on it, I decided to write this instead.  
> Oh, and the title's from the great Rihanna song.  
> Enjoy!

“Haz. Hazza. Harold.”

There’s an answering giggle not too far off.

“Haarroldd.”

The giggles get louder, the clouds shifting slightly to allow more of the moonlight across the night sky. Louis can now make out a dark figure, silhouetted against the water painted in white. He’s twirling languidly on the beach, hips swaying with every step, the tassels of the halter dress bouncing with his movements.

“Harold,” he calls again, clumsily running the last few steps and catching Harry in his arms.

“Lou, Lou, Lou-eh,” Harry chuckles into his neck, arms coming to land around Louis’ shoulders. “You found me.”

“I did! I found you!”

He hadn’t really _lost_ Harry per say. They’d just been out drinking and celebrating with his band and their partners, when Harry had gotten up, made a very impassioned speech about a proper piña colada and then went for a walk on the beach. Louis figured it was the proper thing to do, to go after him. Well, he only figured that once everyone had told him to go after him. But semantics are too much for a drunken state of being.

“How do I look?” Harry steps back, stumbling into the sand, twirling again for Louis.

Louis cocks his head to a tilt, squinting at his boyfriend. Suddenly there’s two of him. And then four. And then it all blurs into one. He pats at Harry’s chest, cleavage on display with the deep V of the dress.

“Y’ gotta stop, babe. Makin’ me dizzy. Dizzzzzy. Bzzz. Zzzz. Bees.”

Harry giggles harder, standing still for Louis. Or as still as he can stand. He’s mostly swaying, stepping out every so often to right his balance. It’s a lot harder with Louis’ dead weight hanging onto him. 

Once he’s sure there’s only one of Harry, Louis pulls back and squishes Harry’s cheeks in his hands. “S’pretty, Harold. Just the prettiest. Pretty eyes. Pretty lips. Pretty.” He tries to nuzzle Harry’s neck, but ends up snorting against his skin. “Harold.”

“’S not my name,” Harry pouts.

Or Louis thinks he’s pouting. He sounds like he’s pouting. He also tastes so good. Little bit of salt and tequila still left on Harry’s body from when Louis had done a body shot off him. Right after Harry had lost a bet and switched his clothes with… with… with some girl. He can’t remember her name right now. He can remember Harry’s name.

Louis slurps off Harry’s neck to glare righteously at him. “I know,” he tries for stern. He thinks he’s doing a good job at it. “But you’re my Harold.”

“You’re cute,” Harry’s smiling so widely at him. His dimples are taking up half of his face and his smile is taking up the other half. He’ll lose his eyes soon. And then his nose. Louis quite likes his nose. Louis must save it.

“I got your nose,” Louis whispers like it’s a secret, clasping his hand over Harry’s nose. “I won’t let you lose it.”

“Where’s it going?” Harry inquires, much too happy for someone whose face is threatening to eat his nose.

“Nowhere, now that I’ve got it,” Louis says seriously, cupping his hands and drawing away from Harry, precious nose cradled in there. He promptly turns around and starts walking back to their cabin, sand soft under his feet. He blows kisses into his palm, sending love to the precious cargo in them.

He feels a weight collide into his back and he goes flying, landing on his palms.

“Nooooo,” Louis wails into the sand, face contorted in horror. “Harold! I lost your nose! _You_ lost your nose!” He turns onto his back to accuse Harry who’s lying on top of him, no care in the world.

“No ‘s not. ‘S right here!” Harry points at his nose, successfully poking himself in the eye. “Here!”

“You found it!” Louis beams up at him. Such a solid boy. So wonderful. Full of wonder.

Harry giggles again, shifting against Louis. “I found something else, Lou. Lou, Lou, you’re hard. You’re hardy. Like my name. My name’s Harry.”

He continues rubbing against Louis, movements unrefined, and huh, Louis is indeed hard. Alcohol and weed normally does that too him. And Jamaica has the best of both.

“Gotta kiss me, Haz.” Louis purses his lips and closes his eyes, waiting for Harry to kiss him. He feels something soft and wet on his cheek, a tongue sticking out to lick at his skin.

Harry pulls back, frowning, “You’re not kissing me back. ‘S not nice.”

“You’re not kissing me back,” Louis counters. “You’re not nice.”

“Mean. I’m nicest. Everyone says so.” Harry stills against him, need to get off forgotten. “You’re so soft.”

“’M getting sand in my arse crack,” Louis grumbles, pushing Harry off so he can sit up. “Come on Harold, up you get.”

Harry looks at him, pouting like a disgruntled kitten, “’S not my name. My name’s not Harold. Harry Styles. Harry Edward Styles.” He rolls his ‘r’s, glaring up at Louis.

Louis stamps his foot in the ground, the sand muffling his annoyance. “You got me hard.” He points his dick at Harry. “I’m gonna go inside and wank or you can come and help me. Harold.”

And then Louis turns and stomps off to their cottage, which is where Harry's drunken self had led them, his dick bouncing proudly against his stomach.

He makes it to their room, strips off his clothes and adding to the pile of sand in the corner, too uncoordinated to get under the covers. He gets a hand on himself and starts to pull off, very annoyed that he has to do this to himself when he’s got a perfectly capable boyfriend a couple of feet away. His hand speeds up, wetness from his tip making the slide easier. He’s going to come and that will show Harry.

Thundering, uneven footsteps approach the room and then Harry stands in the doorway, the ties of the halter undone, falling down to reveal his chest.

“You started without me.” Harry kicks the dress aside to join Louis’ pile of clothing. He steps out of his own pants, crawling on the bed to sit beside Louis. He reaches for his own cock, still hard and shiny at the tip.

“You’re being slow.” Louis’ moan is lost in a hiccup.

“No!” Harry shoots back, picking up speed on his cock. “I can come before you. Watch.”

“No you can’t,” Louis argues. “I started first, Harold. I’m gonna come first.”

“Not my name,” Harry glowers at him, the soft clicks of his hand, loud as it joins with Louis’. “You can’t call me that.”

“I can call you whatever I want,” Louis boasts. “You’re mine, you’re my boyfriend.” He laughs suddenly. “Hey babe, you’re mine.”

He leans in to kiss Harry, and this time, their lips do connect.

Harry crinkles back at him when he pulls away, “You kissed me back!”

Louis nods, closing his eyes. He can feel his orgasm pulling at him, and he searches for Harry’s lips again. He comes over his fingers, sighing into Harry’s mouth.

“I came before you,” he says sleepily, placing his lips on Harry’s too sated to actually kiss him.

“Not fair,” Harry pouts against Louis’ lips.

“Close, babe?”

Harry nods.

“Come on,” Louis licks blindly at Harry’s skin. “Let go, Harold.”

He feels Harry shudder against him, warm come hitting his thigh.

Harry falls back onto the bed with a sigh, limbs stretched wide. “Not my name,” he says for the umpteenth time that night.

And really, why is he being so adamant today? Louis always calls him Harold. It’s Louis’ _thing._

“It’s our thing,” Louis pokes Harry’s side, only to get his hand swatted away. Rude.

“Harry Styles,” Harry mumbles into his pillow, turning his back to Louis.

Louis stares at him, mouth open in offense. He grumbles, getting off the bed shakily and grabbing his laptop off the dresser.

Not his name. He’ll show him.

\---

“Lou?” Harry calls, taking off his sandals at the door. It’s raining heavily in Jamaica today and he’s loathe to track wet sand into their home.

“Kitchen.”

Harry walks in to a well-worn sight. Louis’ standing at the hob, staring at the kettle as it boils. Harry approaches him, rubbing a palm into his neck and placing a kiss on his tousled hair. It’s soft. Just the way he likes it.

“How’s the head?” Harry asks, pulling two mugs from the cupboard.

“Not too bad. Thanks for the ibuprofen.” Louis smiles up at him, eyes still bleary. “How was the session today?”

They’d recorded Sweet Creature. He can’t wait for Louis to hear it, to hear for the 500th time how he makes Harry feel safe. Loved. At home.

“Really liked what we came up with today,” Harry says, putting some Yorkshire tea bags into the mugs.

“When can I hear it?”

Harry smiles down at the mugs. All the songs not specifically about Louis, he lets Louis hear while he’s working on them. Those about him, those Louis has to wait for until they’re done. Perfect.

“Later.”

“Wrote another one about me again?” Louis smiles up at Harry, pulling the kettle off when it whistles. He moves to pour water into the mugs, letting Harry take care of the rest. They bring the mugs to the bar, ankles intertwining once they’re seated at the stools.

Harry shrugs in response, blowing gently at his tea. “We finalised the name for the album.”

Louis’ eyes light up with curiosity, “Well?”

“ _Pink_ got vetoed. Gonna go with _H_ _arry Styles_ instead. Just plain. Simple. For some reason I felt very strongly about it when I woke up this morning.”

He turns to look at Louis who’s staring at him with horror written plainly across his face.

“You don’t like it?” Harry questions, bewildered.

Suddenly, Louis’ expression breaks and he dissolves into laughter.

“Lou,” Harry whines, toeing at his shin. “Tell me.”

“No, it’s great,” Louis wheezes, doubled over. He’s shaking with the force of his cackles and places the mug on the counter to avoid spilling. A second later, he’s fallen off the stool, curled into a ball as he laughs at Harry’s feet. He’s slapping the floor weakly, and from what Harry can make out, he seems to be gasping ‘Harry Styles’ every so often.

Harry just shakes his head at his boy, sipping his tea. It’s been ages since he’s seen him so carefree and riddled with laughter. He’s not going to do anything to spoil such a sight.

\---

Jamaica’s wonderful. Recording is wonderful. Being by Harry’s side is wonderful. Being home is even better.

Their housekeeper clearly had lit a few candles when she dropped by that morning to get the house ready, the welcoming smell of vanilla and warmth greeting them. Louis reaches for the light switch, bathing the room in a soft glow. He slumps into the sofa, seat already molded to the shape of his arse. He needs to get up and shower, wash away the long plane ride before he gets too comfortable.

“Lou?” Harry calls from the entry way by the front door. He’d paused to pick up the post.

“Mhm?” Louis sounds, eyes closed and head tilted back against the sofa.

“What’s this?” Harry asks, white envelope in hand. He comes to sit down beside Louis, letting out a sigh of content when he sinks into the sofa cushions.

Louis lets his head fall onto Harry’s shoulder, looking at the envelope in his hand. He frowns at it, clearly as confused as Harry.

_Harold Styles_

He suddenly feels a lot more awake. His eyes rake over the envelope landing on the top corner.

_The Royal Courts of Justice_

Oh shit. Oh fuck. 

Harry tears open the envelope, pulling out a typewritten letter.

“ _Dear Harold Styles, The Royal Courts of Justice, hereby affirm the change of name from Harry Edward Styles to Harold Styles…”_ he trails off _._

Oh shit. Oh fuck. So that actually happened. Wasn't just some drunken fantasy. 

Louis carefully extracts himself from Harry’s shoulder, putting a safe distance between the two.

“Louis? Does this mean what I think it means? My name is officially _changed?_ ” Harry looks at him, eyebrows straight. It’s a sign that he’s angry. So no laughter for now. “Explain.”

“In my defense,” Louis begins. Harry groans, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “In my defense,” Louis repeats, “I was very drunk. _Very_ drunk. And you kept moaning about how your name wasn’t Harold. So…” he bites his lip ducking his head so Harry won’t see the smile that is begging to be let lose. He tries to fight his shoulders from shaking. He’s _sorry_. But this is too fucking funny.

“So?” Harry prods.

“I filled out a deed poll to change your name and then enrolled it with the courts.”

“What?”

Louis fishes out his phone. He’s always been better at showing rather than telling. He pulls up the [UK government website](https://www.gov.uk/change-name-deed-poll/overview), showing Harry the link for how one can change their name.

“I can’t fucking believe you did this,” Harry pinches his nose. “What were you thinking? All my legal documents. My passport. My licence. Louis!”

“It doesn’t impact them,” Louis reassures, “until you send in individual applications. We’ll just,” he fakes a laugh into a cough, “change your name back tomorrow.”

Harry looks back at the screen. “You filled all of this out when you were that drunk? Forged my signature? Where did you even find stamps?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Louis confesses, quite impressed with himself.  “Come on, Hazza, you’re not really that upset?” Louis eyes him carefully.

“Can’t call me that anymore,” Harry says wryly. “Haven’t you heard? It’s not my name.”

Louis can’t help it. He snorts so loudly and then falls into Harry’s lap giggling like a maniac.

Harry pokes him repeatedly. “Oh my god, is that why you found my album name so funny?”

Louis nods against his thigh, tears leaking from his eyes. “I’d just remembered. Thought it was all a drunken dream, so didn’t bother telling you.” His words are broken by breathless giggles. He takes a deep breath, calming himself.

“I’m really sorry, love. I’ll fix this tomorrow, I promise.” He looks up at Harry with earnest eyes. He grins, “You find this funny.”

“Do not,” Harry presses his lips into a thin line. “I can’t believe you paid £36 to change my name.”

“Oh sod off. You’re fucking rich. Harold.”

Harry holds his gaze for all of four seconds before his lips start to twitch. By the time Louis’ crawled on top of Harry and knocked him horizontally into the sofa, Harry’s in full blown laughter too.

“Stop,” Harry shakes under him. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you love me,” Louis laughs into his mouth, kissing him through his mirth.

“You owe me,” Harry says.

“Anything,” Louis vows.

“Anything?” Harry asks, raising his eyebrows and waggling them. He thinks it looks sexy. Louis has never had the heart to tell him that it really doesn’t.

“Nope,” Louis sits up. “I am not letting you fuck me after ten hour flight. Not happening. Get your mind from the gutter, Harold.” And he’s dissolving into another round of cackles, a half-hearted hand coming up to hide his mouth.

“Menace,” Harry says, tossing Louis off him and leaving him gasping into a cushion.

\---

Harry ducks his head under the hot spray, water cascading down his back. Fucking Louis. Never a dull moment when he’s around. The past seven years have never been a dull moment.

Seven years. Fuck.

The shower door slides open and Louis slips inside, standing up on his tiptoes to kiss Harry. He tastes minty – must have brushed his teeth without Harry hearing it.

“Seven years,” Harry whispers against his lips, apropos to nothing.

Louis shivers against him. “Maybe the next time you change your name, it’ll be to Tomlinson.”

Harry groans, hands landing on Louis’ arse and squeezing. Long term commitment talk gets him so hard. He grinds against Louis, feeling his dick starting to fill up.

“Thought you weren’t up for it?”

“Not up for you sticking that giant thing into my arse right now,” Louis mumbles. “I’m up for other things. The question is, Harold, are you up for it?”

Harry looks down at his own cock. “Definitely up for it.”

Louis groans and twists Harry’s nipple, fringe plastered to his face. Harry brushes it off his face, drawing him into another kiss, tongue snaking in to taste Louis properly.

He shudders when Louis rakes his fingers down his chest, catching on his nipples. Louis detaches with a soft sound, kissing at his neck and then mouthing down. He stops at each nipple, toying the bud with his teeth, until Harry is a mess, scrambling for purchase against slippery tiles.

“Don’t tease,” Harry gasps, when Louis thumbs at his slit. “It’s late and you owe me.”

Louis kisses him once more before sinking to his knees, positioning Harry so he’s blocking most of the spray. The lower side sprays are sufficient to keep Louis warm and wet while he licks up Harry’s cock, slurping obscenely over the soft skin. He takes Harry’s tip into his mouth, sucking gently, when he looks up at Harry and catches his eye.

That’s all it takes to send them both into fits of laughter, eyes crinkling identically, Harry’s cock nudging Louis’ cheek every time he shakes.

“Not polite to laugh during a blowie,” Harry wheezes through a particularly high pitched laugh, caused by Louis licking at his slit.

“Not polite to laugh at the person giving you a blowie,” Louis retorts.

He uses a hand to fondle Harry’s balls, and the other to stroke up his cock. He holds it against his lips, mutters a “Harold” and then giggles with his mouth around it. The vibrations of his laughter are all Harry needs, blurting in shaky spurts over Louis’ lips.

He drags Louis up, licking away his come and whispers against Louis’ lips, “That’s Mr. Harold Styles to you.”

He holds onto his boy tight, smiling into Louis’ neck while Louis grinds against his thigh. Harry feels it, how Louis’ body first trembles from laughter and then, an orgasm.

\---

Louis is artfully setting up take out containers on the coffee table for their listening party. He’s done this so many times, he’s got it down to a science. Maximum efficiency, minimum mess. Harry would be so proud.

It’s tradition now, all the boys gathering at theirs to listen to the newest album in its entirety. Though they’re on hiatus and everyone’s got solo music releasing soon, they figured they could still keep tradition going and have a private listening party where all five could listen to each one’s solo music together.

He’s just about done putting the fried chicken next to the pizza when the front door opens. A minute later, Liam and Zayn walk into the room. They look tired, but they’re both smiling. Zayn reaches for a piece of fried chicken, wincing when Louis slaps his hand.

“What you do that for?” Zayn scowls at him.

“Got to wait for the others,” Louis admonishes. “And you didn’t even say ‘hi.’” If he looks scandalized, it’s because he is.

Zayn rolls his eyes, obligingly wrapping his arms around Louis. They stay entangled for a minute, sinking into the comfort of the other. When they break apart, Liam’s looking at them with a fond smile on his face.

“What?” Louis goes for tough nonchalance.

“Nothing,” Liam says quickly.

When Louis stares him down, Liam gives in, “It’s nice to see my boys. Just, like – together.”

Louis continues staring, wondering when Liam lost his marbles. “We’re always together. What are you on?”

“He’s been having a tough time separating reality from well…” Zayn waves his hand, the unspoken years of fuckery encompassed in the gesture. “Especially recently with – “

“Alright,” Louis says loudly. “Today is about the music. We can get drunk and cry about our public lives later.” He offers Liam a spring roll – they’re his favourite. “Cheer up, Payno. This shit is going to end eventually.”

“Why does he get to eat?” Zayn asks, offended.

“It’s to cheer him up,” Louis angles the food away from Zayn’s grabby hands. “You’re not upset right now.”

Liam breaks a spring roll in half and gives Zayn a piece of it. “I got you, babe,” he crinkles up at Zayn.

“And people say Harry and I are gross,” Louis grumbles.

“You are.” Niall chooses that moment to walk in, bringing in a hurricane of greetings. “Wey hey, bitches. Where’s Hazza? Why are you two gross? Here’s your post.” He tosses a bunch of envelopes and magazines onto the table.

“Who’s worse, Nialler?” Zayn asks from where he’s cuddled up with Liam on the sofa. “Haz and Lou, or Li and I?”

“Oh.” Niall’s face falls dramatically. “That’s not a fair question.” He fumbles for his phone, pulling up the notes section. “I’ve been trying to figure this out for a long time, you know. Important as my role.”

“Role?” Liam asks.

“Captain,” Niall mutters, not even bothering to grace Liam with a look. “Everyone knows. Ready? So first; the tattoos.”

The other three lean forward, Louis trying to peak at Niall’s phone. He wonders if he should be concerned at how prepared Niall is. Maybe they should find Niall a nice girl.

“You both have the matching tattoos,” Niall reads, tone business-like. “But Zayn’s got Li’s name _and_ his face. I gave them the point there.”

“Wait,” Louis puts up a hand. “Are you actually saying their tattoos are better than the anchor and the rope? The ship and the compass?”

“His _face_.” Niall repeats.

“I got the dagger!” Louis throws a chip at Niall.

Niall eats the chip and ignores him, continuing onto point two. “Ziam’s got the matching selfies.”

“Don’t call them Ziam,” Louis grumbles. “’S not fair. They can get away with more. Next.”

“I’d say the love songs are currently tied,” Niall scrolls along his phone.

“How?” Zayn demands. “I’ve got an entire album more.”

“Wait till you hear Harry’s album,” Louis counters. “Half of it’s about me. More than half.”

Niall nods seriously.

“Do you also have the rings on there?” Louis peers at Niall’s phone. “Like _all_ the jewelry I buy for him.”

“Yup.” He looks at Louis sympathetically. “But these two also have the matching Cartier bracelets.”

By now, Zayn and Liam are positively giddy, their Cartier bracelets flashing in the light, as they roll on the sofa, laughing into each other.

Liam’s wiping tears from his eyes when he says kindly, “If it helps, Lou, Niall’s probably the only one who thinks we’re the more obnoxious couple.”

“Damn right,” Louis sniffs. “Larries are going to rule the world one day. Mark my words. And,” he threatens, “we’re so adding like, a _hundred_ points to that list when you hear Harry’s songs. About me. _So many.”_

“Speaking off, you made the playlist?” Zayn asks.

“Offended,” Louis scoffs. “I stayed up late last night because someone only sent me his music at one in morning.”

Zayn shrugs, looking the least bit upset. “Liam was keeping me busy.”

Louis throws a chip at him, dodging Zayn’s swat by running away to the stereo. “Just gonna set up the sound. Don’t even think about eating. Haz should be getting home soon.”

“Hey, Lou?” Zayn asks while Louis fiddles with some wires. “What’s this?”

“What?” Louis returns to the sofa to see the three huddled over the post.

“It’s addressed to ‘Princess Consuela Banana Hammock,’” Zayn reads. He frowns, flipping the letter over. “It’s from the Royal Courts of Justice. Weird.”

“Isn’t that Phoebe’s name? From _Friends._ When she changes it,” Liam says, pulling the letter from the envelope Zayn had just ripped open.

Louis snatches the letter away, “Don’t you know it’s illegal to open other people’s post?”

“Princess Consuela isn't an actual person,” Zayn shoots back. “What is it?”

Louis scans the paper, eyes growing wide. He reads the eerily familiar words. And then does it five more times until it sinks in.

Just as the front door opens.

“HAROLD!”

“Gimme a sec,” Harry’s voice is muffled, getting clearer as he gets closer. “Not that late.”

He walks in, breaking out into a huge grin when he sees the boys and the food. He slaps Niall and Liam on the back, pulling Zayn into a side hug.

Zayn plants a kiss on his cheek, whispering a “Hey, babe,” like Louis isn’t standing there, demanding Harry’s attention. _Especially_ when Louis has a bone to pick.

“What is the meaning of this?” Louis thrusts the letter into Harry’s chest.

There’s a pin drop silence in the room as Harry reads the letter, four pairs of eyes on him. They all see the second Harry realises exactly what it is. And then, Louis’ oaf of a boyfriend collapses into Zayn because he’s laughing too hard to hold himself up.

“What the fuck is going on?” Liam manages to extract the paper from between Harry’s and Zayn’s chest, frowning as he reads it. " _Dear Princess Consuela Banana Hammock. The Royal Courts of Justice, hereby affirm the change of name from Louis William Tomlinson to Princess Consuela Banana Hammock_. _If you choose to_ – wait what the fuck does this mean?”

“Why don’t you ask him,” Louis points an accusatory finger at Harry, who’s managed to sit up, wiping his eyes weakly.

“Louis thought it would be a smart idea to change my name,” Harry says, doing a piss poor job of making any sense. “I just wanted to get him back.”

“From _Friends?”_ Louis complains. “You can’t even be original.”

“But it’s so _funny_ ,” Harry squeaks. “Princess Consuela Banana Hammock.”

And even though there’s not nearly enough of information to truly get the joke, the other three join Harry in laughing. Traitors. The whole lot of them. He’ll replace them all with Steve Aoki.

\---

Harry hates the marketing side of things. Meetings to set up pap walks, fake media stories. It’s draining because he spends half of the time fighting for himself. It’s times like these when he misses the other four the most.

Soon.

He unlocks the front door, the house unnaturally quiet. He frowns. Louis didn’t mention going out tonight. He’d been talking about taking a day off since he’d been in the recording studio for the past week.

“Lou?” Harry calls out, toeing off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket. He climbs the stairs to their bedroom when he sees Louis isn’t downstairs.

“Lou?” he repeats a bit softer, not wanting to wake him if he’s napping. He pushes open the bedroom door.

His words die in his throat.

Louis is standing in front of the mirror, back to Harry. He’s naked, save for some black lace and a bright pink sash, miles of glorious skin on display. The muscles in his back ripple as he twists in front of the mirror, making sure the sash sits just right. His arse is on display, black lace disappearing between his cheeks, the bow of the sash sitting at the apex of his crack. Fuck, he’s delectable.

Louis catches sight of Harry in the mirror and startles. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Harry swallows, throat like sandpaper. “I was calling your name,” he croaks.

Louis shrugs, “Pretty sure you weren’t calling my real name.”

He turns fully toward Harry. Harry’s eyes widen and then he coughs roughly into his hand. He’s not sure if he should be laughing or ridiculously turned on.

Louis is wearing a black lace banana hammock. An actual fucking banana hammock, his half hard cock filling the material beautifully. The sash reads Princess Consuela in sparkly, silver letters.

“Menace,” Harry shakes his head, advancing slowly.

“Oh, one minute,” Louis holds up a finger, reaching for something on their bedside table with his other hand. Harry can’t be bothered to see what, eyes still drinking their fill. His fingers itch with the need to touch.

Louis turns back to the mirror, fixing a tiara atop his messy fringe. Harry groans, closing the distance between them, hands clutching at Louis’ hips. He’s sporting a proper semi, which he nudges in between Louis’ cheeks.

“Like it?’ Louis meets his eyes in the mirror, through hooded lashes, biting his lip. He suddenly smirks, “I’m thinking of making this my official uniform to go with the new name. It’s got all the parts.” He points them out as he speaks, starting from the tiara and ending at the underwear. “Princess Consuela Banana Hammock.”

Harry bites down into the juncture of Louis’ neck and shoulder, soothing over the skin with his tongue. He looks at Louis when he sucks off, chuckling lightly, “So you like the new name? Gonna keep it?” He grinds into Loui’s arse again, this time with more purpose.

Louis tuts, pulling away, “Please, Harold. I won’t have you ruining this sash with your wantonness. Control yourself.” Louis slowly drags the silk through this fingers, running down at a tantalizing pace, sighing softly when his hand brushes his cock.

Harry bends down, sucking Louis’s ear, nibbling softly. He bites right behind the ear, knowing how that gets Louis riled up.

Louis twists away, giggling when he makes it to the door, leaving Harry alone in front of the mirror.

“Lou!” Harry looks at him, shocked.

“Tsk, love. It’s Princess Consuela to you,” Louis’s laugh tinkles, as he does a curtsy, his dick bobbing happily when he pops up. “Come catch me, you lowly commoner.”

Harry watches Louis run away, his own bark of laughter, surprising him. He quickly sheds his jeans and shirt, leaving him in his pants, and takes off after Louis, following his cackles to the sitting room. He catches Louis around the waist, who’s going too fast to switch directions when he realises Harry’s decided to come around the sofa, and ends up colliding into Harry. Harry holds them both vertical, arms tight around Louis as he kisses his laughter away. It’s hard and unyielding, too many days busy with their solo projects to have had proper dick in arse sex, and Harry’s ready.

Louis pulls away, gasping, pupils dilated, lips red, eyes impossibly blue in the low lighting. Harry pauses, peering into his eyes a bit closer.

“Are you wearing liner?”

“Thought it went with the look.”

“Oh fuck me,” Harry groans, dipping back in for another kiss, drawing this one out longer, his tongue having learned ways to tell Louis just how much he turns him on, when words fail.

“I was thinking,” Louis pants, when Harry decides he wants to leave love bites along Louis’ neck, “you could fuck me instead.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees into Louis’ neck, attention devoted to the darkening skin under his tongue. He’s not sure Louis actually understood what he said, but he figures his hips are indicative enough that he’s very much in agreement with the plan.

“Hold on, babe,” Louis pulls his head away. It takes Harry a minute to focus on his boyfriend, eyes blinking away the haze of lust and love.

Louis places his palms on Harry’s chest, pushing gently so that Harry falls onto the sofa. He comes around to straddle Harry, perching haughtily on his chest. His fingers play with the sash, Harry’s own hands squeezing and kneading at Louis’ arse, his mouth slightly agape.

Louis pats his cheek, shaking his head. “Get so turned on.”

“You?” Harry breathes, trying to turn his head so he can kiss Louis’ palm.

“No,” Louis guffaws, holding himself upright with his palms on Harry’s chest. “You, my little idiot.”

“’S ‘cause you’re so beautiful,” Harry says, slightly drunk off the image Louis is creating. “Fuck, Lou, how do you still do this to me?”

“Love,” Louis says simply, smiling fondly at Harry. His expression clears quickly, becoming stern. “Still…” he draws out the word, scraping his nails along the swallows on Harry’s chest. “Didn’t tell you to get your kit off, did I? What if I wanted to undress you? What if I had _plans_ for you?” Louis tilts his head, studying Harry carefully. He looks regal, with the tiara.

Harry nods vigorously, “Yeah, whatever you want.”

Louis bites his lip in contemplation, fingers now playing with his sash.

“Hands up, H,” he decides.

Harry obeys, stretching his hands out over his head, locking his wrists together.

“Such a good boy,” Louis coos, removing his sash and working it into loops around Harry’s wrists. It’s a piss poor job of tying up Harry, but the intent still remains. “I’m going to ride you,” Louis says. “And you’re not allowed to touch. That’ll teach you to change my name.”

“You changed mine first!” Harry bucks his hip, never one to give in, even if sex is on the line.

“I was drunk,” Louis retaliates by pinching his nipple. Hard.

Harry drops his head back with a groan. He feels it hit something hard but he can’t be bothered to care, the pain and pleasure of Louis twisting his nipples, searing through him.

Suddenly, music fills the room and Niall’s voice can be heard crooning _like sweat dripping down my dirty laundry_.

Harry and Louis look at each other and burst into laughter, deep, throaty laughs mixing over Niall’s voice.

“Did you ever figure out why he was singing about laundry?” Harry asks, moving his head to try and locate the remote, his hands utterly useless.

“He just waggled his eyebrows at me.”

Harry’s head catches on the remote and Niall’s voice abruptly changes to soft, sultry notes. Then, Zayn’s hitting a high note that really, only dogs should be able to hear, and it ends with Louis falling on top of Harry, cackling too hard to hold himself up anymore.

“I swear, if the next thing that comes on is Liam, I am walking away and leaving you like this,” Louis threatens, no real weight behind the slits of his crinkling eyes.

“I can’t get to it,” Harry pouts, nudging his face against Louis’ trying to align their mouths. The song’s very sultry and it’s making him want to kiss Louis until it ends.

“Stop,” Louis bites at his scruffy chin. “We are _not_ having sex to the boys’ singing. Wait till I tell them that you get off listening to them.”

“What?” Harry defends. “We should be celebrating that our friends have such a healthy sex life.”

Louis doesn’t grace him with an answer, simply reaching below Harry and pulling the remote from under his head. The room fills with silence.

“Can we go back to kissing now?” Harry asks petulantly.

Louis sits up again, slowly eyeing his body. He seems to make up his mind, slithering down Harry’s body and taking Harry’s pants off as he goes. He then gets up, adjusting his tiara, and comes to stop at Harry’s side, absentmindedly stroking down his chest. Harry stares up at him expectantly, his cock straining against his stomach, already hard and ready to go.

Then Louis’ turns around so his back is to Harry, swings his left leg over Harry's body and plops down onto Harry’s chest.

“Oof,” Harry grunts, when Louis’ arse lands.

“Calling me fat, babe?” Louis cranes his head back to look at Harry.

“Never,” Harry snorts.

“Maybe I won’t let you eat me out,” Louis shrugs, making a show of attempting to get up. He doesn’t really go anywhere, just shuffles back, balancing on his knees for a bit as he situates himself.

“Come on, Louis,” Harry whines. He’s been ready for ages.

“So impatient,” Louis tsks.

And then finally, he’s right above Harry’s mouth, pink hole winking prettily, with how Louis is holding his arse cheeks open, the black lace of the fabric, practically a non-existent string over his hole. It’s shiny and a bit wet, almost as if Louis had –

“Did you already finger yourself?” Harry asks, breathing in deeply. It smells like vanilla, with the faintest hint of musk. Louis must have showered right before, his only rule when they do anything arse related.

“Mhm,” Louis flicks one of his fingers against Harry’s cheek. “Haven’t got all day.”

Harry bites his arse in retaliation, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin close to his hole. He doesn’t touch it directly though, spending long minutes biting and nipping and soothing quickly reddening skin. When he’s satisfied with the right cheek, he tilts his head to the left, repeating the action on that side.

“Fuck,” Louis’ trembling, soft pants getting longer and louder as Harry continues. “Such a tease.”

Harry can’t very well talk, so he licks a long stripe up Louis’ crack, causing Louis to shout and sit back on Harry’s face with more weight. That’s all Harry needs, taking a deep breath and diving in, licking around Louis’ hole in circles, starting of wide and getting small. He switches it up with a poke or a bite whenever Louis gets too still, sending him into another wave of shivers. Louis lifts off for bit and Harry whines.

“Not done yet.” Harry gasps.

“Gimme a sec,” Louis gulps in air. “It’s been too long.”

“It’s been a week,” Harry raises his head and bites at one of the bruises. Louis shudders over him and he smirks with pride.

“I don’t need to see you face to know it’s obnoxious,” Louis pinches Harry’s thigh, voice completely wrecked. He’s always so noisy whenever Harry eats him out.

“Not my fault I’m so good at it.”

“I’ll show you good,” Louis sits back down, making Harry sigh happily and dive back in with renewed vigour. He’s so into it, using the scrap of cloth from the banana hammock to tease Louis further into oblivion that he doesn’t realise Louis’ shifting. It hits Harry with a surprising force when tight heat closes around his cock, glorious suction and slickness. It’s followed by a scrape of teeth and Harry throws his head back, panting heavily.

_Fucking Louis._

“Now who’s good?” Louis grins, slurping off obscenely, tickling at Harry’s heaving sides.

Harry’s abs seize with the phantom sensation still on his cock and the attacks of Louis’ fingers. He fights it, loathe to remove his hands from its confines and make Louis still the way he wants him to. Instead, he strains his neck up, pointing his tongue and pushing inside Louis’ hole, using his own teeth to scrape at sensitive skin. He fucks relentlessly into Louis’ arse, happy at how easily his tongue can go in, licking as far as he can.

Louis collapses into Harry, hot breaths hitting Harry’s cock. He’s too gone to do anything, simply whining on a particularly hard poke, or moaning at a lick. It’s the most precious song Harry’s ever heard and one day he’s going to record it and add it to his album.

Louis manages to get a grip of himself, rotating his arse with a bit of focus into Harry’s mouth and peppering Harry’s cock with soft, little pecks.

“K,” Louis slurs, patting Harry’s cock with both hands as he says to it, “I’m gonna sit on you now.”

He sounds so drunk and delirious, that Harry throws his head back, humour finding its way through the sex haze. He slaps at Louis’ arse, “Giddy-yup.”

“Is that any way to treat a princess? Princess Consuela to you,” Louis bites at Harry’s thigh.

Louis maneuvers himself so he’s properly aligned with Harry, kicking and jabbing him in the process. Harry’s convinced half of those are intentional, but he’s giggling too much to care. His body is still shaking, making it difficult for Louis to align his arse over Harry’s cock. Louis tries a couple of times, holding the string of the banana hammock out of the way, finally getting it right, sinking down with a happy sigh.

“Love your cock,” Louis croons. “Best part of you.” He bounces a bit on Harry’s dick, shuffling until he finds the right angle. The second he does, he stills, letting out a low moan and a litany of curses. “Oh fuck, Haz. Always so good. Best.”

Harry stares at him, forgetting the sensation of a tight arse clamping around his dick, mesmerized by the boy sitting on him. Louis’ flushed pink, blush starting in his chest and reaching high into his cheeks. The liner around his eyes are smudged with his tears, making the blue stand out even more. The tiara is still perched on his head, though Harry’s not quite sure how. And his cock. His cock is covered in the black lace, standing up proudly, and Harry is ready to _cry._

He closes his eyes, burying his face into his arms, breathing deeply.

“Harold,” Louis whines from where he’s bouncing expertly on Harry’s dick. “Look at me.” He pokes at Harry’s cheek and waits expectantly.

“Can’t,” Harry groans, finally giving into the sensations around his cock and snapping his hips up. “You’re too pretty.”

Louis cackles so hard, jostling himself off Harry’s cock.

“Look what you did,” Louis scolds, slipping Harry back inside.

Harry opens his eyes wide and surges up. He brings his looped hands around Louis, pulling their torsos flush together.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he breathes, and then captures Louis’ lips in a kiss.

Louis’ hands scramble into Harry’s hair, angling his head just so, so their lips slide against each other with ease, tongues tangling, until Harry can’t tell where Louis begins and he ends.

He starts thrusting his hips in earnest, dragging across Louis’ prostate with every push and pull, swallowing the sounds that Louis makes. He pulls Louis impossibly closer, trying to give his cock some friction from their moving abdomens.

“Close?” Harry asks, forehead pressed to Louis’. He can feel it in how Louis clings just a bit tighter, movements less refined.

Louis nods, panting. “Gonna make me come, Harold?”

“Not my name,” Harry punches out a laugh, thrusts getting faster and stronger and more erratic.

Louis giggles into his mouth, the joke still funny, and then he slumps into Harry, warm come spilling over his sheathed cock. His giggles, combining with his clenching hole, send Harry over the edge, laughter shuddering through his body when Louis’ tiara finally falls off and hits Harry in the face.

They sit wrapped in each other for a minute, their bodies getting used to the onslaught of a great orgasm. Harry frees his hands from the sash so he can scratch at Louis hair and turn his head for an easy kiss. The tiara bounces off onto the sofa causing Louis to smile against Harry’s lips. 

Harry pulls out slowly, placing the tiara on the coffee table. He gently settles Louis on top of him and drags a blanket, from the side of the sofa, over the two of them.

“You need to stop making me laugh when I’m coming,” Louis says. “I want sexy sex.”

“Sexy sex?” Harry honks out. “I feel like if I’m reducing you to terms like ‘sexy sex,’ you have no right to complain.” He smooths his hand down Louis’ back nudging his fingers into Louis’ hole, relishing in the way his come is slowly leaking out.

Louis squirms but lets Harry play with his hole, too sedated to move.

“Hey, this should win us more points over Zayn and Liam, right?” Louis asks.

“Definitely.” Harry kisses his cheek, resting his chin on Louis’ hair, sleep pulling at his eyes.

On the table beside them, lie two letters from the Royal Courts of Justice, congratulating them on new name changes, one to a Harry Edward Styles and a Louis William Tomlinson.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi, since I actually use my tumblr now! backonefish


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